


been so sweet to me

by perfect_little_fool



Series: the long road [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Cussing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Touching, Trauma, bed sharing, prequel story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool
Summary: Donna breathes. “Now I know why you aren’t asleep yet.”Despite the clear pain laced over his whole being, he manages to give out a frail chuckle. “I was waiting up for you.”(or, snapshots of josh and donna when she’s taking care of him after rosslyn)
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Series: the long road [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833961
Comments: 13
Kudos: 119





	been so sweet to me

**Author's Note:**

> fic song used for title and throughout: “Heart Attack” by Wild Rivers
> 
> this is a prequel, can you believe!! there will absolutely be more of this in the ~present part of the timeline, but I also loved the idea of writing a precursor that chronicles their time after Rosslyn. I mentioned it so heavily in “stuck with nowhere to go” that it feels right to do this installment. hopefully y'all agree.
> 
> if you’re new to this series, hello! welcome! you do not need to read the two published before this in order to understand this piece, which is great, but it would be even greater if you read the other parts in “the long road” series after reading this. but only if you feel so inclined. happy trails!

_we were something like a movie  
but she was more of a show_

-

“Josh—”

“Donna—”

The assistant huffs, hands finding her hips without her meaning to. “If you don’t give me that folder right now I am going to call the President and make _him_ give the order.”

Her boss gives a small grin at her proclamation, looking absolutely boyish despite the circles under his eyes. “You think so?”

She curls her mouth before turning and walking in the direction of his phone and, despite his disbelief that Josiah Bartlet would take time out of his day to yell at his Deputy Chief of Staff to stay bed-ridden, Josh accepts defeat and lets the folder slide out of his grasp. It hits the ground and papers flutter everywhere, making Donna turn at the noise. When she sees the newly-made mess, her brows lower and eyes narrow.

“Although I’m happy you actually listened to me, was _that_ entirely necessary?” she exasperates, arms crossing over her chest tightly.

Josh shrugs, flinching at the twinge that settles deep in his chest at the move. “It slipped. Also, you’re emphasizing a lot of words today.”

“Not sure how else to get my point across to a crippled degenerate.”

He scoffs at the implication as she comes forward to bend down and start cleaning up the flock of papers. “Donna, don’t use words like that. It’s offensive. Didn’t you read the report given to me by the National Disability Rights Network a couple months ago?” 

She peers up at him through her eyelashes. “Of course I did. You didn’t.”

“I detest that.”

“Detest all you want, bucko,” she replies, tucking all the papers back into their rightful manila folder and returning to her feet. Josh is stretched out in bed the way he has been for the past five days since coming home from the hospital—legs splayed, arms placed as comfortably as he can put them, head and back propped up with at least three pillows against the headboard. After setting the folder down, Donna reaches forward to adjust a couple of them, helping release some strain on one of his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as some of her blonde hair brushes against his cheek.

“Sure. When’s the last time you drank some water?”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Donna, I’m not five—”

“When?”

He sucks at his teeth. “During lunch.”

She wordlessly heads toward the door of his bedroom, disappearing on the other side of it. As she’s pouring him a glass in the kitchen and refilling his ice tray, she makes a mental checklist of things to grab from the office the next time she’s there. Also stuff she needs to delegate to Toby that Josh probably shouldn’t—

The glass in her hand slips, crashing to the bottom of the sink, making a loud bang that almost rings in her ears. Her throat tightens as water continues running over her hand, feeling cold yet hot.

She shakes her head as she feels wetness behind her ears start to trickle down her neck. A deep breath wracks her chest, puncturing her lungs that can perfectly breathe in and out no problem. Her lungs that weren’t ripped apart then stitched back together. A shaky hand swipes at her own face, dragging water across her skin. 

Donna had been in the shower when Josh was getting shot. She’d been so idle, so unaware. So useless—

“Donna?” 

Her head whips toward the opening of the kitchen where Josh is leaning heavily against the wall, brow furrowed and mouth open. The concern on his face makes her fingertips tingle but feels wrong when paired with pallor washing over his expression. He’s going white.

“Josh!” she yelps, coming toward him quickly, grabbing at his upper arms as he sags harder into the wall. “Why are you out of bed?”

“I heard a crash in here—are you okay?” 

She shakes her head, noticing the sweat gathering at his neck. “We need to get you lying down again. It’s not a good idea for you to be walking around right now—”

He’s breathing a little heavy, his touch finding her arms as well. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Donna huffs a bit, not unkindly, maneuvering one of his arms over her shoulders and angling them to leave the kitchen. “No, no, I’m fine. The glass just slipped out of my grip. I’m fine.” 

“It was—It was so loud, I—” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

They enter his room, his body getting increasingly warmer where it’s pressed against her side. Gently, she helps him lower back to his mattress, assisting him in returning to his original position in bed. “‘S’okay,” he’s murmuring, eyes half-closed. His breathing is still deep, but not as puffy as moments prior. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. That you hadn’t been hit.”

Her throat goes dry at this, eyes flicking to his pale face. Josh doesn’t seem to realize what it is he said, what he alluded to, so she ignores it too. “Let me go get you that water,” she tells him. “Then I can fill you in on all the stuff CJ’s had to deal with while you’ve been out.”

This brings a weak smile to his lips. “Can’t wait.”

-

_spread roots wide in the back of my eyes  
and she never let it show_

-

“Did you find it?”

“I’m still looking, Joshua.”

He grunts. “Look harder.”

Donna rolls her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Are you sure you even have it? You haven’t used your record player in years. Why on earth would you keep a bunch of records that you don’t touch?”

From his spot on the couch, Josh manages to let out an annoyed sound. “I hear a lot of talking for someone who’s supposed to be looking.”

“Why don’t you come look for it?”

When she’s met with silence after that question, she gives herself a small smile and scooches another box in front of her to open up. “That’s what I thought.” She tugs open the flaps of this one, being met with the sight of a few photo albums. “What are these? You keep photos?”

She holds one up for his inspection, his eyes squinting. “Oh. My mom gave me those. There’re a lot of pictures of uh, my sister.”

Donna’s heart gives a little twang at that. She nods and returns the photo album to the box, digging a bit deeper, where her hand meets soft fabric. She pushes aside what’s blocking her way and pulls out a sweatshirt clearly long forgotten. Dark crimson, no holes anywhere to be seen, _Harvard_ emblazoned across the chest, _est. 1636_ below it. She swats at a bit of dust on it. “Josh? Did you know you still have this?” She turns it in his direction, watching as his expression goes from confused to mildly surprised.

“Oh, wow,” he comments. Today is one of the days where his voice has managed to remain normal, no gasping for air or grogginess. “I forgot about that. There’s probably a Yale one somewhere in those boxes too.”

Donna cocks her head to the side, rubbing her thumbs along the bottom seam of the sweatshirt. “Can I keep it?”

Josh releases a perturbed shout. “It’s mine!”

“You just told me you forgot you had it.”

He grumbles, mostly to himself. “What if I wanna wear it soon?”

She gets to her feet, the sweatshirt still clutched in her fingers. “Can you honestly tell me that you will wear this anytime soon? Really?” Her brow bounces up on her forehead to drive her inquiry home, his face souring a bit at her.

He adjusts slightly in his stretched-out form on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, before realizing how uncomfortable that is and dropping his arms back to his side. He huffs. “Fine. You can have it.” There’s no malice in his tone however, and she smiles wide.

“Thank you, I’ll treasure it forever.”

Josh glances at her, the look on his face sardonic at most. “‘kay. Can we get back to hunting down my Foreigner record please?”

-

_I had my hand full of aces  
ran her fingers down the back of my neck_

-

Donna pushes into Josh’s building, checking her watch to see that it’s almost ten p.m. She wasn’t able to get here until now, had to be at the White House for the majority of the day because of an issue with some of the other aides. She, Ginger, and Bonnie had to lay down the law so to speak, with Margaret running interference with Leo to keep anyone from getting fired. It was tough and exhausting, but she was able to leave knowing everyone still had a job.

Unfortunately, it meant Josh was home alone for the better part of the evening since his in-home nurse was only there today from noon to four.

Quickly, she unlocks his apartment and lets herself in, noticing that a lot of the lights are already off. After closing the door behind her and relocking it, she toes off her heels and hangs her purse on the coat rack above them. She pads into the living room, seeing the couch vacant with an empty coffee mug left on the side table next to the book Josh has been attempting to read while stuck at home.

Donna breathes easy wondering if Josh is already asleep.

Then, as she’s about to head toward his spare room to change out of her dress pants, she hears a quiet shift. She looks toward Josh’s door, noticing it’s ajar. 

“Donna?” she hears, low and rumbling.

She darts forward, pushing into the open doorway and searching for him in the dark. She sees his silhouette on the bed, the shape of his body under the sheets. “Josh?” she asks, stepping forward on the carpet, not wanting to disturb him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs back, voice broken and ending the word on a gasp.

“Josh,” she answers, coming to his bedside and bending down. When she can’t make anything out, she reaches over and turns on the lamp on the nightstand, bathing his face in light. He’s pale, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight above his strained neck. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

He shakes his head minimally and that’s when she notices his hand clutching his chest. “Just, uh, just hurts.”

Donna breathes. “Now I know why you aren’t asleep yet.”

Despite the clear pain laced over his whole being, he manages to give out a frail chuckle. “I was waiting up for you.”

“Bad idea.” On instinct, her hand moves up and runs over the top of his head through his hair, his eyes fluttering at the touch. A swallow lodges in her throat. “Did you take your pain medication?”

“Nah, I figured I’d wing it,” Josh shoots back, the sarcasm in his voice paper thin. She gives him a gold star for the effort. “Yeah, Marcy made sure I took it before she left for the day. I thought it would knock me out but uh,” he groans in the middle of his sentence here, “no such luck.”

Her fingers linger to his forehead, noting how warm he feels. He starts a little at the touch. “You’re burning up. We should take your temperature.” 

When she goes to move away he whines. “Hang on. Your fingers are cold. They feel good.”

A smile wisps across her lips and she presses her hand more fully to his skin, reminding herself she should grab a towel from the kitchen to wipe the sweat off his face. “I’ll get an ice pack too. Anything else you need?”

“You,” Josh hums, so softly. “Just you.”

Donna’s stomach gives a roll at his whisper and she’d be sure she imagined what he said if not for the fact that she watched his mouth move with the words. She clears her throat to rid of the sudden tears that spring at the back of her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” she tells him, for both their benefit. “But I am gonna change. So give me a few minutes.”

“Okay,” he replies, voice dropping, slow like honey. His eyes are starting to shut a bit, looking heavier. “I missed you.”

She stumbles from where she was trying to get back to her feet. “What?”

But his breathing has evened out, scrunched expression gone smooth and relaxed. She shakes her head, running a hand down her face as she heads back to his open door. There’s no way he said that—no way he admitted that to her. She misheard him, he probably said something else. Yes, of course.

This time, when Donna is pouring him a glass of water, her hands begin to shake for a completely different reason.

-

_I stepped back when she laid down that  
I was losing breath_

-

“Josh—”

“Donna—”

“Will you just let me in the damn bathroom?”

“No, Donna, I’m not gonna let you in the damn bathroom when I’m naked and helpless!”

“Well then, what do you think is gonna happen? Magically you’re gonna find the strength to stand up and get dressed by yourself even though you’re in there gasping and upset?”

“Donna, I—”

“Just let me help you. I hate knowing you’re in there unable to stand up and I’m stuck out here, useless—”

“You’re not useless, you’ve never been useless.”

“That’s...that’s not true. Please—”

“Donna. I understand. You’re not useless. You’re one of the most useful, valuable people I know. Would you call Sam and have him come help me?”

“But—”

“I don’t want you to see me like this, Donna.”

“...Okay. I’ll call him.”

-

_oh my,  
you just gotta take a piece of me_

-

“Three weeks, huh?”

“Three weeks,” she confirms, sitting down on the space he left for her on the edge of his bed. He brings his arms up to settle his hands behind his neck, giving her one of his classic Josh-grins. “How long has it actually felt like?”

“Six months,” he exasperates. “I’m going crazy, Donna, I swear.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” she insists. Her hands push up his shirt, revealing the long white bandage taped to his front. She can tell he’s actively ignoring the sight of it, like always. “How are you feeling today?”

He tries to shrug, but his current position doesn’t really allow him to. “All right. Kinda tight in the chest. Feel backed up.” He sniffs. “Hard to describe.”

“Long sentences. Short sentences,” she mildly teases, easing the tape off of his skin, peeling it back. Once air hits his wound he winces, but otherwise doesn’t show any discomfort. Donna is aware he’s hamming it up for her. He’d ham it up for anybody. “Sorry I’m stuck doing this for you instead of Marcy.”

“I’d rather you anyway. Marcy’s hands are calloused.”

His assistant quirks an eyebrow. “You can tell how soft or not soft a woman’s hands are from her changing a medical bandage?”

“You can’t?”

She tries not to, but her mouth gives a little laugh. That gets another full smile out of him though. Today’s been another decent day it seems, the tired lines pulling at the edges of his face not as prominent as usual. He ate a whole bowl of soup for lunch instead of half like he has been since coming back home, plus he allowed her to force a cup of tea down his throat. Progress is progress.

First, she dabs at the long, jagged surgical scar with a towel to rid of any residual sweat or stickiness. She knows he has an appointment tomorrow to finally get the stitches out, which he’s been eagerly waiting for. It’s only in the past week that he’s been able to walk around for extended periods of time—prior to that he’d get winded within minutes. Just a couple days ago he and Donna went on a walk around his block outside, her arm looped through his just for safety. It was nice and he mentioned how he wished they could do that every day. 

“Even during work?” she’d commented, half-joking. 

He’d just looked off ahead of them, elsewhere. “Sometimes.”

Donna then takes another towel that has a small amount of soap on it and starts gently wiping along the outside of the incision, making sure not to touch any areas where she knows are more sensitive for him. All the while, she can feel Josh’s eyes on her face, not saying anything. Her cheeks start to get a little warm, hating how he’s just watching her. 

“You need something?” she chides, uncapping the ointment she’s now meant to rub around the outside of his wound. “You could take a picture, it'll last longer.”

Suddenly, before her fingers can make contact with his skin again, his hand shoots out and circles her wrist. She sucks in a breath in shock, letting her eyes connect with his. His jaw is rigid, looking as if he’s cutting his teeth into his tongue. 

“Josh?” she asks quietly.

“Thank you,” he suddenly says, the sentiment stiff, yet warm at the same time. “I need you to know how much I appreciate you helping me out. It’s not—I know it’s not in your job description to nurse your boss back to health after he’s been shot, but—” He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, his fingers pressing a little harder against her pulse point. Her vision goes hazy. “You know that question, what would you bring if you ever got stranded on a desert island?”

The apparent subject change leaves her head spinning and she finds herself grasping for words. “I—a desert island?”

He nods, face going a bit softer now that the initial awkwardness of bringing up this conversation has already played out. Her heart swells. “I always thought I’d bring my signed baseball from Dwight Gooden but—” His thumb traces along a vein under his touch, green beneath her pale-pink skin. “I’d bring you.”

Donna’s tongue feels too big for her mouth. “You’d bring me?”

“To the desert island,” he confirms. “Yes.”

She shifts on his mattress. “May I ask why?”

The small smile he gives doesn’t feel intentional but almost like second nature with his eyes hot and bold on her. “Because you’d be the one to get us off of it.”

She licks over her lips, not wanting to break this precarious, intimate moment. All the while she’s overly aware of his hand still encased around her wrist, can count each nerve ending on fire from where every finger is placed on her skin. Yet, she knows she should respond.

“That’s kind of you to believe,” she murmurs, afraid to speak louder lest the tension dissolve. “I never thought of myself as a master craftsman of rafts but I can certainly try.”

His lips tug into a breathtaking grin. “I’d love to see it.”

With that, he gives her wrist one last heated squeeze before letting his own hand fall to the bed. She clears her throat, having to break their eye contact since too much is swirling inside her for her to truly trust herself. She returns to tending to his scar, applying the small amount of ointment needed before finding the appropriate cut of gauze to redress it.

Once all is good and ready, she pulls his shirt back down and hurriedly gets to her feet. His eyes follow her. “Should we start thinking about dinner options?” she asks, pacing away from the bed and toward his bedroom door. “I could whip up some pasta or—”

“Let’s just order a pizza.”

Donna glances back at the bed where Josh is sprawled as normal, arm behind his head, an easy smile still adorning his face. The domesticity of it, the casual air about his energy, roars throughout her torso. All of it is too much, so devastating and far away, that she has to pin it down and tamper it. A deep breath later and she’s back in the professional, friendly zone. 

“Pizza it is.”

-

_try to tease out the other side_

-

She isn’t sure what it is that wakes her up, but something does. At first, there’s silence. She’s jolted awake but it’s followed by an eerie quiet that confuses her. So, she rolls over and tries to return to sleep, hugging the pillow below her head.

Then, moments later, she hears it. A low moan, drowned out a bit by the rain tapping against the window of her room. Seconds pass, then there’s a groan, this one a bit louder and more strangled. Her body sits up ramrod straight, the sleepiness from before pouring out of her body instantly. When she catches another, this one a grunt that sounds like it’s being forced from a cannon, she bolts out of bed and darts to Josh’s room. 

She opens the door and sees him, twisting and turning under his sheets, the fabric looking tangled amongst his legs. He’s grasping at his chest, fingers clutching nothing, his mouth opening and closing. “No—” he’s saying. The streak of lightning that hits across the sky gives her a little clarity to his face, his eyes so tightly shut she wonders if he’ll go blind. “No—I—”

“Josh?” she calls, taking one step forward.

He gasps loud, back arching, head leaving the pillow before returning to it. His breathing winds down then up, frantic and inconsistent. “Josh!” she hollers this time, coming forward to his bedside. Her hands aren’t sure where to grab, so she settles for his arm closest to her. “Josh.”

His eyes pop open at her touch, throat grabbing at air before coughing wildly. His fingers are clenching at his chest, going white-knuckled around the fabric of the shirt he fell asleep in. On instinct she reaches forward and slides her hand over his, squeezing once and helping him let go. He gasps again, a tear sliding down his cheek. 

“Donna,” he cries, voice bubbling. “You’re here—”

“Josh, are you okay?”

“I—I got shot.”

A bolt of pain hits her square in the chest, almost as if it had happened to her, not him. “Yes, Josh. But you’re better now.”

“You—you weren’t there.”

Here she has to pause because even in a moment of comfort where all she wants to do is soothe him, she also doesn’t want to lie to him. Even if it’s saying something that could continue to upset. “No, Josh,” she murmurs, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. He turns his palm so that their fingers slide over each other, where he grips hard. “I wasn’t there. And I’m so sorry.”

A broken sound falls past his lips and his chest heaves. “Can you breathe?” she asks, worry flitting through every cell of her body. “What can I do?”

He’s wheezing, and she gives him a few seconds to calm down, before he jerks his head. “Come here.”

Before she can think of the line that may be crossed, he’s moving slightly to give her space. So, against her initial better judgment she crawls onto the mattress, sliding in behind him so her back is against the pile of pillows he has. He’s still breathing heavy when he leans into her, resting his head back into her chest, their connected hands still locked through it all. She gulps as he settles into the cradle of her body, torso moving up and down rapidly as he searches for oxygen. Her other arm comes up and latches around his side, right below his scar, where she presses her cool hand to his stomach. 

“Breathe, Josh,” she murmurs, lips near his ear. He does just that, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “It’s okay.”

Thirty seconds later, his breathing is stable, and his head is loose under her collarbone. His fingers tighten over hers in spite of all this, chasing her touch. She swallows. Something thick is in her throat and she can’t get it out.

“Josh?” she whispers.

“Hm?”

“Do you...do you want me to stay?”

The question seems silly since he’s effectively trapped her in his bed, laying back against her while she holds him. Even in his slightly incoherent state she wants to make sure he’s okay with this, can’t cross this line without his consent. There are things you just don’t do.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please don’t go.”

Her shoulders relax as she settles in, easing her head back to be more reclined against the pillows. Josh burrows deeper into her, dozing off just as the rain turns into a patter and the thunder is practically a dull buzzing in the distance.

Donna falls uneasily into sleep sometime later, wondering what could possibly happen when they wake.

-

_’cause darlin’  
I just see you’ve been so sweet to me_

-

The first thing she’s been intently grateful for when staying at Josh’s apartment for the past month and a half is his shower. Water pressure, check. Big and open, check. Water that actually gets hot, check. No creaky pipes, check. Plus, she has yet to slip and fall in it, which can’t be said for her shower back at her place which she’ll crash to the bottom of at least once a week. 

As she’s slathering up her body with body wash, she thinks back to this morning, waking up next to Josh for the seventh morning in a row. They hadn’t necessarily been touching, but his leg had been pressed up against the back of hers, knee right at the crease of her thighs. She edged away quickly after realizing their positions, then eventually just rolled out of bed when deciding she needed to cool off. 

She shakes the train of thought, rinsing off her body. So what if she’s sleeping in her boss’ bed? It’s been helping him actually _sleep_ which he’s been struggling to do for weeks.

The sound of running water reminds her of two and a half months ago. She had just finished drying off in her apartment when she got a call from Mrs. Landingham who told her the President had been shot. She heard nothing else as she raced to the hospital, somehow not getting a speeding ticket on her way there.

Now, all she can reminisce on is how she had been in the shower, shaving her legs and washing her hair, all while Josh was getting shot in the chest, while someone was opening fire on everyone she—

“Donna?”

Her hands go idle where they’re at on her shoulders, her eyes widening. “Josh?” she asks over the pounding of the water against the tiled floor. “Do you need something?”

“Sorry, I—where’s your heating pad?”

“Is it not by the couch?”

“I checked there.”

“Okay—hold on.” She quickly finishes up, turning off the water once all soap is gone from her body. The door of the bathroom is closed once the steam starts to dissipate, so she steps out of the shower and grabs for her robe strung over the back of the toilet. She grabs a towel as well to start wringing out her hair as she heads for the door.

“Josh—”

Her body collides with his where he’s standing right next to the wall outside the bathroom and he finds her shoulders to keep her from falling. She releases a loud breath, staring up at him. “Hi,” he says.

“What were you doing standing right by the door?” she asks. His grip on her shoulders falters and he steps back, clearing his throat. His eyes take in her wet hair and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

“I was standing with my back straight against the wall. My doctors said it will help relax me.”

“Oh,” Donna replies. “Okay. Here, I think—”

She heads out into the living room, Josh on her heels. As she searches for the heating pad, she wonders if she should bring up the fact that they’ve shared a bed for a whole week. Then she remembers he hasn’t brought it up either. 

The heating pad turns up on top of the kitchen table, buried under some file folders she’d brought home for him. She hands it over, slinging her now-damp towel over her arm. “I was gonna head out to grab some bagels for us in a second,” she tells him as she starts to head to the spare room to change. “Anything else you need while I’m gone?”

She turns to meet his gaze in question, his blank stare looking through her. Her brows lower. “Josh?”

He snaps out of it. “Yeah. Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna get bagels—”

“No, I mean—” he gestures to his door that’s still open, steam coming out of the bathroom connected to it. 

The pulse under her jaw beats a weird rhythm against her throat. “My clothes are in here,” she reminds him, cocking her head toward the spare room door. 

His hands flutter over the heating pad. “Oh, right.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his head. “‘Kay. Bagels sound good. You know what I like.” Then he turns and disappears into his room, slipping out of her sight faster than she’s seen him do in awhile.

-

_i’ve been waiting on the day all night_

-

“Hey, what do you think of this bullshit legislation that Rogers and Leroy are pulling for?”

Donna racks her brain for what he could be talking about, then remembers the thick packet that crossed her desk a couple days ago. Right. That one. “I’m still trying to understand it,” she calls back from where she’s in his spare room, changing. “Isn’t it just another attack on foreign presence?”

“Yes and no,” Josh answers. Although they can’t see each other, judging by the distance his voice sounds at, he’s still on the couch, most likely seated against one arm rest. “Mostly in the Middle East.”

“Does it not feel...xenophobic to you?”

“It absolutely does, but—”

“But what? Are you _defending_ them?” She finishes pulling her hair into a ponytail, tightening it at the back of her head before moving out into the living room. 

“Donna, you know I’m not. I just want to—”

When he doesn’t finish his thought, just allows the words he meant to say die in the air, does she look up to see what’s wrong. On the couch, pressed against one corner of it with about a dozen papers littered around him, Josh is staring at her. Within the definition of mouth open, eyes a tad wide. 

Her brows scrunch. “What?”

He has to take a couple seconds before shaking whatever it is off, throat clearing. “Your, uh—the sweatshirt.”

She flicks her eyes down. “Oh, right. Did you forget you said I could have it? I know that was a bit ago but—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, glancing away but then glancing back again within one second. “I just...nothing. Just weird seeing you in it.” His voice sounds thick, hard, and she feels her stomach sink. 

“Sorry, I—if you really do want it back I can—”

“No, no,” Josh repeats, a little frantic. “Keep it.” Donna takes solace in watching him do a full swipe down her figure with his eyes, although he probably believes it was discreet. A smile tugs at her lips. 

“Okay,” she agrees, stepping forward to make her way to the kitchen. 

“You look good in it.”

This stops her in her tracks, heart setting off a race in her chest. Before she can make a full reaction, however, Josh is already changing the subject, sprinting forward ahead of her nerves so she can’t even begin to catch up.

“All I’m saying is that Rogers has never taken a stance on foreign _anything_ and suddenly…”

Donna blows out a breath, nodding to let him know she’s listening before disappearing into the kitchen. Once there, without the watchful eyes of her boss, she leans her forehead against the fridge door, letting the cool surface ease her.

-

_would it kill you for some peace of mind_

-

“Oh, god, yes.”

“Josh.”

“Fuck, this is good.”

“It’s just a beer.”

“It’s not just _a_ beer—it’s my first beer in an eternity.”

“It’s been eight weeks, give or take.”

“Like I said.”

“Will you just pass me the soy sauce?”

“Yeah, good call on Chinese food, by the way. Definitely hits the spot.”

“I wasn’t about to have pizza for the tenth time this month.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?”

“Nothing, but—”

“Then stop complaining.”

“Nice to know your old snark and charm is still intact. I’d been praying maybe some of that would have been fixed post-op.”

“You prayed for me?”

“Of course that’s what you took away from that.”

“Dear God, it’s me, Donna. Please watch over my powerful, important boss, Josh Lyman. I hope he’ll come out still as boyishly good-looking as he’s always been, and that I’ll be better about getting his voicemails to him on time—”

“I’m _always_ on time with your voicemails—”

“Oh, come on, I’m just—”

“After all I’ve done for you—ah! Josh!”

“I wanted to get your mind off of it.”

“So you _tickle_ me?”

“Then you jabbed me with your chopsticks! We’re even!”

“I can’t wait ‘til you’re back at work. I need peace.”

“Whatever, Prima Donna. Hand over the Mushroom Chicken.”

-

_would you take me and not look back_

-

“So, Donna,” CJ asks, leaning back against the railing of Josh’s front stoop. “Do tell. How difficult has Josh been during his recovery?” The smirk she administers around the lip of her beer bottle does not go unnoticed amongst the rest of the group.

Donna grins. “Oh, I have stories for years, Claudia Jean.”

“Mi amor, please share with the class.”

Toby drops in. “Any of these not for the faint of heart?”

Josh scoffs. “Donna has _nothing_. I’ve been cooped up in there for months, of course I’m gonna get a little testy.” He throws his assistant a look, who has the audacity to remain angelic and soft looking. “You have _nothing_.”

“You seem to be emphasizing a lot of words today,” she throws back, a tint in her eyes he hasn’t seen in what feels like so long. He can’t help but match her grin. 

Sam reaches out and claps Josh on the knee. “Glad to see you on your feet, man. Leo has been up to his ears in god knows what—he’ll be the most grateful out of us all to have you back.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff hums, taking a swig of his drink. “Can’t wait to see what our Congress has fucked up while I’ve been gone.”

“You act like we can’t run a country without you,” Toby comments.

“‘Cus you can’t.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Says the man who had to call Sam to help him off the bathroom floor.” 

All four heads she’s with whip to meet her gaze, two absolutely delighted at this batch of information, one mildly embarrassed to be roped into this, and one tonguing at the inside of his cheek angrily. She smiles innocently. “Stories, Josh,” she repeats. “I have _stories_.”

“Samuel!” CJ berates, leaning forward to slap said man across the shoulder. He gives out a tiny yelp. “You did _what_ for Joshua and told us nothing of it? The gall!”

“Oh, so next time I help a naked man recovering from a gunshot wound that ate up his insides off the bathroom floor post-panic attack, I should waltz into the Oval Office and announce it to the President and his whole Cabinet?” Sam retaliates, voice sharp. When he’s met with silence, he and Josh share a warm handshake. “Though I have to admit, it was one of the more hysterical moments of my life.”

“Sam!” Josh hollers.

Donna laughs as CJ and Toby round into a bout of asking for more details, Sam overlapping with quips about how it wasn’t a big deal. Josh looks back over at her amidst it all, a small smile etched on his lips. His face is back to full color, pink in his cheeks and light in his eyes, hair curling at the nape of his neck. She flicks her eyes down to the hand curled around the beer bottle he’s holding, remembering how it felt pressed against the curve of her waist when she woke up in his bed this morning. She wonders what it will be like to return home after he’s back at work and sleep alone in a bed for the first time in weeks. Her gaze cuts away from his at the thought.

Minutes later, their friends are calling it a night. CJ and Toby hail a cab together and drive off, Sam makes small talk for a couple more minutes before heading back to his car as well. That leaves Donna and Josh on the stairs by themselves, both looking up at the foggy night sky, minimal stars winking through it at them. 

“You heading home, too?” he asks quietly, not looking at her.

She looks at him though, sliding her eyes over the curve of his jaw and down to his neck exposed by the pajamas that are too big for him. The scar is concealed farther down, as it usually is, but she sometimes wishes she could see it. Stare it straight in the face and thank it for not being worse, that it let her still have him, have Josh for however much longer. She wants to run her hands over it, hug him close, since she doesn’t know many times she’ll be able to before something happens again. 

“I’ll stick around,” she murmurs back, draining the rest of her beer.

He nods and doesn’t say anything, just gets to his feet and turns to head back to the entrance of his building. She follows, walking through the door he props open for her and toward his apartment. 

When they lay down to go to bed that night, side by side in his room, they both know it’s for the last time. Tomorrow is when she’ll pack up her things and return to her apartment and Josh will start to take care of himself again. They’ll return to their normal back-and-forth at the White House, banter and flirt when no one is looking but everyone is watching. 

And it’ll be enough. ‘Cause it always is.

So Josh opens up his arm to her tonight, lets her roll over into the heat of his body, gives her room to nuzzle her face into his chest. He aches to press a kiss to the top of her head, to ask her what she dreams about, but holds it all back. 

Instead, he falls asleep listening to her breathing and matches the tempo of it.

-

_good gracious,  
you’re a heart attack_


End file.
